


White Knight

by Sandnose



Series: LoT Coldwave Rewrite Series [1]
Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV)
Genre: Angst, Communist bad guys are bad, Emotional Leonard Snart, Episode Rewrite: s01e05 Fail-Safe, Established Relationship, Fix-It, Hurt/Comfort, Justice Is Served, M/M, Mention of Past Sexual Assault, Mick is super protective, Past Child Abuse, Ray is a victim of circumstance, Rip and Sara are just here for a rescue, Scars, Snart gets captured this time, Snart is tortured, Torture, Vulnerability, but just a heads up, nothing graphic, so don't look into it too much, the boys are safe, there aren't very definite reasons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-21
Updated: 2017-12-21
Packaged: 2019-02-17 18:00:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13082268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sandnose/pseuds/Sandnose
Summary: (Rewrite of Season 1 Episode 5 "Fail-Safe")He had told him to go. Hell, he screamed it. He had given his partner a window of opportunity to escape, to be safe. It hurt Mick to watch Snart shrink as he turned away, albeit with hesitation. But he is safe, the thief told himself with a sigh.





	White Knight

He had told him to go. Hell, he screamed it. He had given his partner a window of opportunity to escape, to be safe. It hurt Mick to watch Snart shrink as he turned away, albeit with hesitation. But he is safe, the thief told himself with a sigh.  
  
He was shaken from his thoughts when the Russian guards gave him a particularly hard shove. After spitting at the guards, he looked up to face a stately and official looking man; their leader. Mick smirked defiantly and opened his mouth to make some sort of smart comment that would only piss the superior off when—  
  
“Get your filthy Russkie paws off me!”  
  
He knew that voice; he knew it well. The guards struggled to restrain a violently kicking Leonard Snart who left a string of threats and obscenities in his wake. Mick could not keep his eyes off him, filled with a mixture of anger, frustration, and admiration. That weakness was his mistake.  
  
The superior gestured for the guards to bring him Snart. When he roughly gripped the smaller man’s face Mick audibly growled, causing the officer to smile devilishly.  
  
Dammit.  
  
Mick just layed out his hand, all because of his shit poker face—it was always vulnerable to Len, and that is why he gave up trying to actually make monetary bets against him when the two of them would play cards.  
  
“You lay a hand on him and I’ll beat you to dust.” the larger man threatened sinisterly.  
  
“It’s ‘I’ll beat you to a pulp, Mick.” came the smart remark from his partner, “You pound him to dust.” he corrected with an insinuating smirk.  
  
While the officer was rolling his eyes with annoyance, Snart banged their foreheads together. This act of resistance made Mick heartily laugh out loud, with Snart quickly joining him. Both men were silenced when Snart’s head was slammed into the metal of the cargo truck parked beside them, his skull causing the vehicle to groan with the reverberations. Mick strained against the men holding him as Snart was yanked upright by his own guards. He was dazed, and a little blood escaped his nose, but otherwise alright.  
“Take that one to a cell with the other American,” the officer ordered, “but leave this one to me.” he added as he jerked Snart’s attention back onto himself by his chin, the other man letting out a pained hiss at the jarring movement.  
  
“I’m gonna get you, Len.” Mick bellowed as he was hauled away, “I’ll make those bastards pay!”  
  
Even the guards knew his threats were not hollow; the blazing wildfire in Mick’s eyes made them physically tense.

* * *

Mick could only muster the occasional grunt in response to Ray’s insatiable yammering about the gulag and their situation. His mind was almost completely focused on Snart; he knew they took him as leverage against him, but that they were hoping to achieve with that he did not know. He only bared his certainty in the many colorful ways in which to destroy the meatsack who laid hands on his partner. He was not brought out of his thoughts until he took notice that the sunlight that had been previously filling the window of their cell had given way to darkness.  
  
“Snart?” Ray’s voice made Mick’s neck snap around.  
  
There was the booming clank of the cell door across from theirs. A limp ball of cloth was tossed in and the bars slammed shut again. Mick surged to the bars of his own cell.  
  
“Len?”  
  
The bundle stirred at the other’s voice.  
  
“I’m okay, Mick.” His own voice was strained. He had been screaming.  
  
Mick clenched his teeth and the cell door started to shudder under the intensity of his grip.  
  
“The Bastards. I’ll kill every last—”  
  
“It’s nothing I can’t handle, Mick.” Snart sighed as he slowly unfolded himself to lean against the cell’s wall, “Nothing I’m not used to.”  
  
That last comment made Mick’s hands go slack and his anger was replaced with hurt.  
  
“Len, I made you a promise—”  
  
“And all I want you to do is make good on it, but be patient Mick. The others will come for us soon, I’m sure of it. Get some rest Mick, and try to find a lighter from him Ray; helps keep him docile, and, trust me, you’ll be needing that soon.”  
  
“I don’t need Haircut to babysit me.” Mick said with a scoff, earning a fond smile from his partner that made the larger man practically melt at the sight of it.  
  
“Goodnight, Mick.” he said as the other climbed back onto his top bunk and settled in.  
  
“Night, boss.”  
  
Snart let his head click softly against the cement wall behind him and let his breath escape him in a low, barely audible hiss. Ray could not tear his gaze away from the other as he watched his face contort with every move he made before he claimed defeat and let his body go lax against the floor. The bubbly scientist did not stop staring until he was met with an ice cold glare so filled with hate that it made his stomach turn as he hurriedly averted his gaze.

* * *

They came for Snart at first light the next day. The younger man did not go quietly. Mick just sat in his bunk and watched the spectacle soberly; though his expression was blank, his eyes glittered with anticipation of spilling another human’s blood for the sake of Snart. The rest of the day went by without incident, that is until Ray had to go and get himself schooled in the intricacies of prison life out in the yard, with Mick looking on as he toyed with his newly acquired lighter. The last conscious thought he remembered having before being knocked out was that Mick had finally found himself a lighter, which oddly left him with a sensation of relief.  
  
When he was returned to the cell in the dead of the night, he commented on Mick’s lack of assistance, but – as he expected – the arsonist could have cared less. Mick only tore his gaze away from his open flame when he picked up on the nearly imperceptible sound of something heavy being dragged along the cement of the gulag’s freezing floors. Ray kept incessantly yammering until Snart’s cell was opened and what they presumed was the man himself was thrown in.  
  
The bundle did not move. Even when Mick called out to it, it remained still. Mick got up from the bunk and settled himself on the floor in front of the bars, staring across at Snart. Ray eventually succumbed to sleep, noting that the other was still sitting vigil as he drifted, solid as a statue.  
  
Ray awoke to Mick in the same position he had left him in; his face blank and his eyes as alert as they were hours before. This side of Mick Rory was starting to scare Ray, especially because he was stuck in a closet-sized cage with the much larger man. “Hey, Mick…” he spoke in a hushed tone so as not to set off the other, and he left a hand suspended midair in hesitation of making contact with his shoulder, but the man did not budge. When Ray got to his feet, he looked on the top bunk where the gleam of Mick’s stolen lighter lay forgotten amongst the undisturbed blankets. He was sure the flame could snap him out of – whatever exactly this was.  
  
Ray came toward Mick, lighter in hand, and lit the instrument of destruction right in front of the arsonist’s eyes. The bright orange of the flickering flame danced in Mick’s eyes, but they remained solely focused on the occupant across the hall. Looking with him, Ray could see that Snart’s form was rising and falling ever so slightly with breaths that let out audible wheezing. It was sobering to see the ever-cocky and snarky Snart reduced to nearly nothing at all, and the state it had Mick in made it downright frightening.  
“Jesus.” he said to himself as he extinguished the flame with a flick of the lid.  
  
His voice made Snart start to stir, grabbing Ray and Mick’s attention when he let out a choked groan. After much effort and slow, careful movements, Snart had brought his face to the bars, or what was left of it; Leonard’s face was a swollen mess of black and blue, with splashes of red thrown in for good measure.  
  
Mick rose on his knees and got closer to the bars. Snart began the taxing process of snaking his arm through the bars and stretching as far as his body would allow to try and reach Mick, who quickly reciprocated the action. When their fingertips brushed, Snart let out a chocked “Mick” before the other shushed him gently – the kind of gently that almost seemed wrong coming from a man like Mick.  
  
“Lenny, you just need to stay strong. The others will come get us out of this mess soon, I promise.”  
  
Ray could have sworn he saw moisture glistening from where he suspected Snart’s eyes were hiding behind swollen flesh. With a sudden surge of energy, Mick reached out farther and managed to hook their fingers together by the first knuckle.  
  
Bones cracked in the silence of the hall as a leather-clad foot broke apart the two men.  
  
Mick pulled his arm back while Snart launched his whole body father back into his cell with a pained shout, cradling his hand. As the guards following the officer worked to haul the smaller man out of his cell, the devil turned to look condescendingly down at Mick.  
  
“Now you get to come and enjoy the show.” he said with a sickening smile that made Ray cringe.

* * *

They had the restraints on him so tight that the leather was now slick with blood – Mick had never stopped struggling. Especially when the guards disrobed the top half of Len with ease. He hated seeing him so pliant. Only he should make him act this way. Snart’s pale eyes remained submissively downcast as they chained him by his wrists and attached electrodes to his chest around the scar tissue.  
  
Though Mick knew what to expect, it never got any easier in all of the hours that he watched his partner’s torture. The officer tended to alternate between beating him with fists and other instruments and putting him through enough electric shock to leave him on the edge of consciousness. Without fail, they would revive him every time with a bucket of clearly freezing water, which would always launch Len into fits of screaming and struggling to get away, before his body would go slack – ready to absorb more punishment.  
  
Mick did not want to think about how long all of this had gone on for; he was fairly certain he had been witnessing only a handful of hours today, but Snart had been in this state for the past two days too. Mick could not even begin to put in words how infuriating all of this was; having to helplessly stand by as they tortured the man he loved was torture in and of itself. He was sure that was why they were even doing this in the first place – they like kicking the hornet’s nest. Well, Mick Rory would have to educate them on the consequences of playing with fire, personally…

* * *

By the time the two men were dragged back to their cells it was night again. Mick noted that Ray laid along the bottom bunk looking as battered as Len – though he was sure Pretty Boy’s torture was not nearly as extensive.  
  
“They’re trying to get the professor to cooperate.” he huffed out, his voice thick with fatigue, “Tortured me to try and get a rise out of him. But it worked pretty quickly, Stein hate to see others get hurt because of him. What about you? What do they hope to achieve by torturing Snart?”  
  
“A premature and particularly artful death.”  
  
Ray’s eyebrows shot up – well, only as far as he could with one eye swollen shut. He would never have expected Mick could feel so passionate about anything – other than fire. But this whole situation was making him reevaluate how exactly Snart and Mick’s relationship was; the only word he could use to describe the two with certainty was ‘complicated’, as each of them were, whether separate or together.  
  
Without another word, Mick retreated to his bunk and Ray heard the tell-tale sound of the other’s lighter opening and sparking to life.  
  
“You should get some sleep, Mick.” he suggested good-naturedly.  
  
“I’ll be able to sleep when I make him safe, when I have him with me again.”  
  
The bond that Ray was started to see between them was nearly heart-wrenching, but then he remembered that their relationship mainly thrived off of thievery and bloodshed.  
  
Eh, no body’s perfect. Ray told himself with a slight shrug.  
  
The rest of the night remained relatively peaceful, with only the occasional outburst from an inmate or two.  
  
The calm before the storm.

* * *

When the guards came for Snart the next morning the only thing he could manage was a pained groan. At the sound, Mick let out a low, rumbling growl from where he stood at the door with his knuckles bone white from his grip on the bars. The larger man snarled when the officer cracked his baton against his exposed fingers, forcing Mick to retract his hands but the rest of him refused to budge. Mick did not move from his position until Snart was long gone, which led to him simply changing to sitting in the same place.  
  
“We’re getting out of here,” Mick said without prompting, “soon…”

* * *

“You are much stronger than I expected.” Officer Arkadin huffed as he took a brief pause from his “work”.  
  
Snart gave a weak chuckle in response and his bloodied lips tried their best to deliver his signature smirk.  
  
“Perhaps if I can’t break your body, then I can break your mind…” he said as he set down his last instrument of torture.  
  
Nervousness started to set in and made the hairs on the back of Snart’s neck rise. The Russian officer removed his black rubber apron and loosened his tie. When he turned back to Snart with a small blade in his hand, he smirked.  
  
“I understand why the brute values you: you’re truly submissive,” the tip of the knife lightly drew down Leonard’s chest as it began to rise and fall with increasing rapidity, “but your thorns need to be cut, мой розовый…”  
  
Snart began to start struggling with fervor as the knife began to tear through his prison uniform tied around his hips. His breathing was frantic. Wounds on his wrists from his shackles were reopened and warm droplets of scarlet were rolling down his scarred forearms.  
  
His eyes darted around the cell, seeing things that were not really there; memories and faces returned to haunt him in his moment of weakness. He could not find his voice until he was left completely exposed, and he did the only thing his body would allow: he screamed the name of his partner in fear and anguish.  
  
He cried out for Mick, but only cold silence replied.

* * *

“Man, are we glad to see you guys!” Ray huffed in relief as Sara and Rip came to a halt in front of their cell.  
  
Rip started to fill them both in on the current situation as he fumbled with unlocking the cell. As soon as the lock clicked, Mick was shoving their saviors back as he stormed past them and in the direction that the guards had taken Snart.  
  
When Sara turned to start after the other man Ray seized her wrist lightly to stop her.  
  
“He needs to do this himself. It’s his score.” he said with an earnest face, “We should help out the others – sounds like they need it.” he added with his trademark Boy Scout smile.

* * *

He heard the screams.  
  
At first he thought it was just his lack of sleep playing tricks on his mind, because he could only summon sounds like that in his worst nightmares and deepest memories. Len was truly terrified of whatever that bastard was doing to him.  
  
Despite what creative horrors could fill Mick’s head, nothing could have prepared him for what waited behind the door he just kicked open: Leonard was strung up like he had been previously, but his abuser was strategically cutting down his nude body, with Snart’s clothes a tattered mess hanging from his ankles. His reddened cheeks glistened with tears having been shed in desperation and fear, two things that Leonard Snart did not feel.  
  
The sight of his partner covered in his own blood, struggling, exposed, and in distress made Mick see red. He was on the officer in a heartbeat – the man had only enough time to see his doom surge toward him, but no time to react. His fists kept pounding the man’s head into the stone-cold floor until there was nothing left to beat anymore.  
Covered in the blood of if enemy and tool in hand, he turned to his lover, who stared back at him with wide, scared eyes. Mick made quick work of the chains, but he left behind the shackles that bit into the other’s skin.  
  
When he fell, Mick was there to catch his limp form and hold him close. He put their foreheads together as Len started to let out quiet hiccupping sobs. Mick shushed him lightly, but said no words – he did not need them. What Len needed was to let his mind catch up with reality and come back to the safety of his Mick.  
  
Once Len quieted down enough, Mick bend down to pull up what remained of his clothing and fasten it around his waist as best he could, then putting the officer’s coat over his top half. This made Len shiver uncomfortably, but Mick knew he would wear anything rather than be exposed.  
  
When they were finished in the cell, Mick followed Len’s gaze to the barely recognizable human body on the floor. Those pale eyes of Len’s burned with pure hatred; the likes Mick had only seen him reserve for people like Lewis.  
  
Mick brought him back to reality with a bloodied hand to his cheek.  
  
“Lenny, let’s go home.”  
  
The two men left with their arms slung over each other’s shoulders, neither looking back.

**Author's Note:**

> мой розовый = My rose
> 
> It's also my headcanon that Leonard was scalded by Lewis in his childhood, scarring most of his torso, arms, and upper legs (hence why he wears long sleeves and such)


End file.
